DL: Thgink we could get a camera on that? Let's show our home audience...

Wayne: (mugging for camera) OK. Look, Dana. It's the cemera. You remember the camera don't you? OIK..(flashing what a good boy am I grin)

Garth: Stop man. You're scaring me.

Wayne: OK. Our story till now. Mike Myers,

excellent upcoming young comic misses the wave.

Elvis: gosh darn those aliens anyway. Look at them. All them Elvises. They's like my children.

Culkin: Take him! Take him!

Film Prof: At this point the action builds asd we enter the, ah, "painful journey." phase of our exposition. Our characters now overcome a series of ever more threatening obsctacles as they prepare to confront...ah...the tit. This part is rather boring and drawn out, so we're going to skip it and go directly to the tit.

cut to: exterior, nighjt.

Grioup of scientists with recording equipment, etc. Flashes of lightning in the clouds. Giant tit emerges.

the tit opens: hundreds of identical elvises come dancing out, lead by the real ELVIS and BIGFOOT in a sickening recap of the 1986 Statue of Liberty rededication. At this point, the layers of s

The integrity of the space time continuum ruptures and the universe collapses into a singularity of self-parody: a dot, which becomes a vanishing sphere of phosphorescence on a TV screen, which explodes again, reconstituting all as it was before:

Ever wonder what happened to Richard Dreyfus after he went in the alien ship and they took him away? You don't know. What if the aliens really **** him over? You don't know. But I do. Here’s the answer. Ever read Neitzche? Eternal recurrence?

Uh...everything repeats right?

Ever notice how you repeat yourself? Eh? Make a joke. Oh my god, I already used that. Eh. I'm imitating myself. Know why? There are only a finite number of jokes.

Bullshit.

No. It's all true, Jack. (Carl Sagan voice) There are billions and billions of jokes in the known universe--but there's only a finite number. Know what? The aliens own them all. They've been here for billions and billions of years and they own the rights to everything. I'm not shitting you. Whatever you think--they've already done it, and they've got the rights, daddy-o. All the jokes, all the routines, everything has all been cataloged and numbered--and the aliens have just found out that we've been stealing their stuff. All those crazy signals from earth TV and radio have just now reached them and they're pissed. That's why they're invading..

They're taking us over?

They're taking over the market: radio, TV, movies, the works, Jack. As far as they're concerned, they own us already--so they just want their piece, their percentage points. That's why they're abducting the comics.

The tit...the tit

LADY: Thank you.

MSHARK: No, no...

XFILES

Don’t you get it, Scully?

Don't you see....?

He was lame. They left him behind because he was lam3e4.

Comic: Next thing I know this giant tit comes crashing through the roof. I'm thinking, whoa mama, where's the other one, cause they usually travel in pairs, get it, ha-ha, you're a beautiful audience. And it's like, made out of glass. Freaking unbelievable. And then it starts changing color, like a TV screen. I'm freaking serious. And there's all these beautiful pictures inside, I mean there's these babes, badabing, badaboom, there's cars and clothes and a salad shooter and you know like all this stuff. And all these other comics are like hey, wow, I want some of that. So this tit starts sucking everybody up, they're like disappearing, I'm thinking, is this unbelievable? Is this unbelievable? So I got to get me a handfuil, haha gbet it, you're beautiful, but then it's just like gone.

MSHARK: A teat. A glass teat.

LADY:

tit appears paul could we get a camera on that oh my hahaha bob barker

that's fro calling me mainstream

wayne (

DENOUEMENT

[The following was not included in the unproduced, unreleased studio version of "Mo' Encounters of the Sometimes a Great Alien Nation Meets Return of the Son of Monster Magnet II: Judgment Day." It is available on the unproduced, unreleased director's cut.]

Interior, alien spaceship. Two-shot, ROBIN WILLIAMS, JACK GETZ.

ROBIN WILLIAMS looks at GETZ, smiles messianically, then knees him in groin

RW: (manic delivery) Here's a concept. Ever wonder what happened to Richard Dreyfus after he went in the alien ship, waved bye-bye, and they took him away? You don't know. What if the aliens really **** him over? You don't know. But I do. (Gameshow host voice) It's Mondo Comedy time--and you've just entered the bonus round! For ten points and this set of snake knives, what is the secret of the universe?

GETZ: Uh...know when you hold 'em, know when you fold ‘em...

RW: (knees him in groin again) No, no, ennnggg. Here's the answer. You pretended to go to college, took your parents' money and went through the motions so you could drink beer, right?

GETZ: Right....

RW: Ever read Nietzsche? Eternal recurrence?

GETZ: Uh...everything repeats, right?

RW: Yes! The man knows his Cliff Notes! Ever notice how you tend to repeat yourself? Ever notice how you tend to repeat yourself? Eh? You make a joke. Oh my God, I already used that. Eh. I'm imitating myself. Now extend that process to infinity. History repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce, then as sitcom.

GETZ: Uh...

RW: You don't have the math, but I'll put it to you this way. The universe is disappearing up its own a******.

GETZ: What's this got to do with comedy?

RW: It's the end of comedy, Jack. Know why? There's only a finite number of jokes.

GETZ: Bullshit.

RW: No. It's all true, Jack. (Carl Sagan voice) There are billions and billions of jokes in the known universe--but there's only a finite number. Know what? The aliens own them all, and they're mean mothers too, like a cross between Rupert Murdock and Palmer Eldritch: heavy talent, Jack. They've been around for billions and billions of years andthey own the rights to everything. I'm not shitting you. Whatever you think--they've already done it, and they've got the rights. All the jokes, all the routines, everything has all been cataloged and numbered--and the aliens have just found out that we've been stealing their stuff. All those signals from earth TV and radio have just now reached them and they're pissed. That's why they're invading..

GETZ: They're taking us over?

RW: The market, Jack, they're taking over the market. Forget all that "War of the Worlds" stuff. They don't want the land. They don't want the water. They want our radio, TV, movies, publishing houses--the works, Jack. As far as they're concerned, they own us already--so they just want their piece, their percentage points. That's why they're abducting comedy writers, comedians. They want you all working for them--in house.

JGETZ: But if they own everything anyway....

RW: It's not fresh. If they do it, it stinks. But you don't know it's old material--so you can do it. Not only that, you can become your own material. Ha-ha-ha.

JGETZ: “Own material, hahaha,” what are you talking about "own material" hahaha”…? What's that supposed to...

RW: Think about it, Jack. Jokes are old-fashioned. Stories are old fashioned--they've been done--it's all been done. What's left? Self-referential material--your own life. Real stories about real writers writing about writers writing about writers writing.

We still hear the screams, faintly. The teat-shaped craft lands. In the foreground we see some sort of alien-language corporate logo which strongly resembles the MTV logo. A subtitle clues us in: this is KOSMIC MEDIA, behind which is an oddly familiar house--yes, there's no mistaking it--it's the alien equivalent of that house on MTV's "Real World," only this is the UNreal world where various abducted, penned- in, well-fed and creature-comforted comics and comic writers walk around bitching about their lives to the ubiquitous cameras, now including JGETZ who is removed, kicking and screaming, from the TEAT and taken into the house. But that's another bloody concept with absolutely no commercial potential, and we had better end this thing now while there's still time. Peace.

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Marty Fugate is an area critic, screenwriter, science fiction writer, humorist and cartoonist. He can, and will, write about anything for money. For links to his latest short story collection, go to: Marty Fugate